


The Lake

by yrelec



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Boats and Ships, Fluff and Humor, Lovecraftian Monster(s), M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Sandwiches, Sunsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 09:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yrelec/pseuds/yrelec
Summary: The sun hangs low and red in the sky like a blister. It chases away the sparse clouds, who sprint across the darkening sky like mad dogs. The heavens seem so far away. They arch away from the lake, a vast and generous expanse that pulses. The horizon is infinite, boundless, and only seems to extend now that they have chased after it onto the surface of the lake.Tom takes Will out to the center of the lake and they eat sandwiches together.
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: 2nd devons writing challenges





	The Lake

**Author's Note:**

> And that's on the 2nd devons image prompt for this fortnight. Rip second boat. We don't care about you.

Claude Monet - Impression, sunrise 1872

The wood of the oars’ handles beneath his palms is rough and splintered as he pushes them out of the water. They knock against his knees. A steady spray alights upon the lake’s surface from the blade. The constant drip, paired with the lapping of the calm waters at the hull of the boat, is the only sound out on the peaceful quiet. Rocking gently, the boat drifts aimlessly forward.

Blake hums under his breath, focusing on the warm sun that dances over the waves. He squints, his face sweltering under the glare. He can taste the brine on his lips. His shirt sticks to his back and sweat trails lazily down his neck. It is peaceful out in the center, the shore a distant smear. They are far enough out that the gossip of birds is a murmur on the faint breeze. Only the most foolhardy of mosquitos swell on their arms; they are warned away with slow, practiced strokes.

Will drapes over the bow. He seems to be melting, oozing tranquil indulgence, hazy like an impressionist painting. A content smile graces his face. His blond locks are pasted to his forehead and he gleams under the sun. His sunglasses, wide and dark, reflect Tom’s expression back at him in twin portraits. He looks like a modern Antinous1. Tom can see why Hadrian2 was so overcome by his dependence on the other man: he feels it now.

“The sun isn’t going to set for another hour, Sco,” Tom tells him. 

The sun hangs low and red in the sky like a blister. It chases away the sparse clouds, who sprint across the darkening sky like mad dogs. The heavens seem so far away. They arch away from the lake, a vast and generous expanse that pulses. The horizon is infinite, boundless, and only seems to extend now that they have chased after it onto the surface of the lake.

Will only nods in response.

“Impressive, innit. I forgot how easy it was to row,” Tom says. When Will only smiles, he continues. “Can’t give myself all the credit, now, can I? You sat there all high and mighty like a King and let me row this whole way. Great moral support. You ought to get yourself a gold medal for that.” 

“You did insist on having the oars,” Will replies.

“All right, don’t get shirty on me. I brought this upon myself. I know. Help me bring them into the boat.” Tom pushes one of the handles away from him towards Will, and Will takes it. Together, they pull the oars from the side of the boat. Will attempts the motion with significantly less grace. It dips back into the water as he struggles for the throat and the boat rocks with the movement, knocking down one of the water bottles at the bottom and causing it to roll in fecund crescents. It makes a grand knocking sound when it hits the benches, dripping water all over.

“Smooth,” Tom comments.

Will grins at him, and kicks him in the shin. His legs are long enough that they sprawl throughout the boat. He is not wearing clothes suitable for a boat ride. His polycotton pants and cashmere shirt are anything but practical. If Tom were to lean just slightly more to the right, Will would probably fall out, stark white shoes and all. 

“What do you reckon lives at the bottom of the lake?” The depths beneath them glisten. It’s a not quite blue that reflects back, saturated with the silt of the basin.

Will leans over. “No doubt some evil, Lovecraftian horror.”

“Please do elaborate on that.”

“Oh, you know, a giant serpent or other that has lain at the depths of this unassuming English pond since the Prehistoric era,” Will says with a shrug. When Tom motions to him to keep going, he shakes his head. “It’s as thick as a man is tall and longer than the M25. It has scales that shriek like kites when it moves and whose color is darker than the midnight sky. Some say that it will rise at the dusk of humanity, bring forth our apotheosis as the sky rains fire and the ground begins to crumble.”

“Brilliant.”

“Not so brilliant if I push you in so that you can take a look.”

“Yeah right,” Tom says, confidence brimming in his voice, “I could eat that monster for breakfast. Pit me up against a real nightmare and then you can start taking bets.”

“Myrtle could crush you.”

“Myrtle is 20 feet tall and snacks on rabbits if we don’t watch her in the fields. She could crush anyone she chooses,” Tom replies. 

He spreads his arms wide to demonstrate, leaning back and arching to encompass her imaginary width. Will laughs, so Tom gets up and hits him as he extends and Will bats him away. The boat rocks dangerously. Tom sways but stands tall in triumph. Placing a foot on the bench where he had been seated, he proclaims himself captain of the boat, and, by extension, the superior friend. 

He is only allowed to remain like that for a brief moment before Will rams him in the back of the knee with his forearm and he crumples, spilling dangerously close to the ledge. When Will catches him they collapse with mirth closer to the center of the boat. The light has deepened and the shadows have traipsed their dark colors over the sides of the boat, so the boys crouch there to avoid the sun’s more direct gaze.

“You’re an idiot,” Will snickers.

Tom responds to this by wetting his hands overboard and flinging the cool droplets at his friend. Will shrieks and tries to scramble away, but the boat leaves him little room so he resorts to simply enduring it as Tom begins to smear his damp fingers along his bare arm. He removes his sunglasses to clean them off with his shirt and Tom catches a glimpse of his pale stomach. He feels high on the moment, drugged with euphoria.

“I rescind my prior statement. You’re an ass.” Will says this while catching Tom’s eye in his own and holding him there for a most serious bout of eye contact. His eyes are the same shade as the cobalt sky. They squint goodnaturedly.

They stare at each other for what feels like hours before Will snorts and can no longer keep down his amusement. They elbow each other and jostle for room, unfurling their legs so they reach across the entire hull.

“You want your sandwich now, or do you want to wait until dusk?” Tom asks, already reaching for his own.

“Now, mate. If we wait all the insects will be awake.” He holds out his hand.

“Ham or preserves?”

“What kind of preserves are there?” Will asks, reaching across to grab the bag and rifle through it. He comes across one wrapped in a thin paper towel and opens it, making a face when it comes away sticky.

Tom takes the bags back. Its straps jostle and hit him across his thighs as he places it on his lap. “What do you think?” He says, incredulously. “I’m a Blake. We only eat strawberry preserves in this high-class establishment.”

“That’s a lie and you know it. You brought strawberry because you knew I’d let you have it.” Will hands him the sandwich he had pulled out. The wheat bread peels back to reveal a mess of red jelly that has already coated both of their fingers.

“You said it, not me,” Tom points out. 

After a moment, he pulls out the other one and passes it. Will unwraps the paper and cracks open the slices of bread dubiously. It’s ham.

“I still can’t believe you take mustard on your ham sandwich,” Tom says. He had prepared the sandwich true to promise: between each slice of ham is a layer of mustard, and the smell reaches him from amidst Will’s hands.

They eat in silence, staring pensively across the water. Tom sprays crumbs all over his lap; when he’s finished, he stands and brushes off so that they fall into the water. A swarm of water skippers gathers, frenziedly gorging themselves on an unexpected feast. Two apples are pulled from the bottom of the bag and drip over their hands. They turn the disposal of the cores into a contest: Will flings it further, launching it so forcefully it skips before sinking.

The sun crawls closer to the horizon. It swells in the bulge of the Earth, fading into a sensually red that shimmers as it dances on the shore. The two boys have skin that glows red in the gloaming light. Dusk snatches at them in wisps. The birds have fallen silent and they are now more removed from the shore than before.

In the crepuscular shake of the boat they boys are caught transfixed. They stare in awe as the sun descends in quarters, exploding in shards across the sky. The sanguine sea is mirrored in the lake around them and the deep crimson fills their lungs with conflicting excitement and peace.

“It’s beautiful,” Tom whispers, only he’s not talking about the landscape.

When the Earth finally swallows the sun’s last slice, Tom lifts up the oars and dips them into the water. He begins to row and in shell shocked silence they close the lid on this fantastic dream and pull back to their normal lives.

.

**Author's Note:**

> I am in despair that I couldn't add any more references, but alas, that is what you get when you put off writing for the prompt to the last day. Here you go:
> 
> 1. [Antinous](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antinous), Greek youth and favorite of emperor Hadrian. Back  
> 2. [Hadrian](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hadrian), roman emperor, builder of the Hadrain wall, and enemy of the roman senate. Back
> 
> Message to the 2nd Devons: I think it's time to drink a glass of water.


End file.
